


it smells like the kitchen is on fire (also known as the time fitz tries baking)

by everhtorne



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, and cute domestic fitzsimmons, because isabelle loves babies, future family au, just aLL OF THE FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everhtorne/pseuds/everhtorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it's Jemma's Birthday and Fitz wants to bake for her. </p><p>//For Isabelle on her 18th Birthday//</p>
            </blockquote>





	it smells like the kitchen is on fire (also known as the time fitz tries baking)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jemmasimmmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/gifts).



> TO MY FAVOURITE PERSON ON HER BIRTHDAY.
> 
> I LOVE YOU.

Fitz just catches the bowl as it slides off the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping it from smashing against the tiled floor but failing to prevent half of the gooey contents from dribbling over his crotch and socks.

“Bloody hell,” he whinges.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t just buy a cake for Jemma’s birthday. In a moment of madness he had decided that it would be nice to make her one for when she gets home – Jemma’s always liked personalised gifts and Fitz loves impressing her. He had originally considered buying a cake and passing it off as his own but he knew she would see straight through that.

Fitz is a smart guy. Well, more than smart. His IQ is way above average, he has a working understanding of, not only his field, but most aspects of science, he can remember long numbers and visualise arithmetic and find solutions to problems that others would find impossible, so why, _why_ , is he this awful at a task as simple as baking? If Jemma were home she would be laughing at him for sure.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, using a damp cloth to clean the cake batter off of him and beginning to re-create a new bowl of cake mix. “How can one bloody cake take so much time?”

Shoving a spoon into the floury bowl, Fitz stirs the ingredients together and wonders if it should be this lumpy.

“Waaaaaaahhhhgggggggggghr,” an echoing screech interrupts him abruptly and he jumps, dropping the spoon and almost knocking the bowl off _again_.

“Dammit,” Fitz mutters, making sure that nothing is falling. “I’m coming!” he shouts in the direction of the nursery before shaking his head to himself. “She’s eight months old, she can’t understand you.”

In all honesty, he’s still getting used to the idea of being a dad. It’s all new to him.

“Hey, Jess,” Fitz smiles sympathetically when he sees the tiny baby writhing in her bed, crying out.

Her name is actually Jessica and Jemma gets annoyed when Fitz shortens it but he can’t help himself. She’s his little tiny Jess.

Jess glances up at him, her eyes squinted and her face scrunched up from crying.

“Hey,” Fits soothes, reaching into the cot and cradling her in his arms.

He’s just about begun to feel comfortable doing it. At first, he always refused to pick her up, told Jemma it was her job. Because one of the first things Fitz had learnt about parenting was that holding such a small, breathing little person in your arms is _scary_. They’re so delicate and breakable and heavier than he had been expecting and just so scary.

But, after some practise and (unwanted) teaching from Jemma, he finally feels like he maybe _might_ be okay with it.

Jess wriggles in his arms – a motion that once would have sent him into a frenzied panic because _oh god she’s going to fall_ – but Fitz remains calm, tightening his grip around her slightly and making sure that her head is supported.

“Hey,” he repeats softly. “What’s up, little one?”

Screeching shortly in response, Fitz rocks Jess in his arms, swaying her ever so gently from side to side until her crying begins to lessen.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, placing small kisses on her forehead every now and then, “Daddy’s got you. Everything’s okay.”

If only Jemma were around to see this. Fitz grins proudly as Jess stops crying completely, breathing heavily after using up so much energy on her wails and staring up at him intently. Fitz stares back, his expression somewhat awestruck.

It feels like Jess was just born. He sometimes wonders how on earth she is nearly a year old already.

Carefully stroking Jess’s cheek with his thumb, Fitz thinks about the day she arrived back in October. It’s not the kind of event he’s likely to forget any time soon.

Jemma had been overdue. Only by a few days, but long enough that Fitz was panicking and could barely sleep with anticipation. And by the time Jess finally did come, Fitz realised he hadn’t been prepared at all.

He had watched birthing videos online and read all the books and articles and he thought he knew what to do when his and Jemma’s baby arrived. But it’s one thing reading about it and a completely different thing experiencing it first-hand. Nothing could have prepared him for the labour.

It had been nine hours long. Just over the average and nothing compared to how bad it could have been but they felt like the nine longest hours of Fitz’s life. And he wasn’t even the one pushing the baby out of his – you know. He just had to stand and support Jemma.

It’s hard to support your wife, though, when she’s on her back, her curls matted with sweat, screaming louder than she ever has before that _it hurts_. He remembers Jemma lying there, with her legs spread and an entire crowd of doctors and midwives poking about. It did not look like fun at all. Fitz had never felt so helpless as he gripped her hand and whispered words of encouragement. All the while, he was trying not to look too closely at the blood and other strange bodily fluids coming out of her. It all made him a bit queasy.

Of course, everything had changed the second the beautiful, red-cheeked, hot little bundle was thrust into his arms. Jemma was panting and sweating and crying and Fitz was crying too and Jessica was screeching. And it was the most perfect moment of his entire life.

He never thought he could love someone more than he loves his beautifully sweet biochemist wife. But now they have Jessica, he’s not sure.

* * *

 

“Okay,” Fitz mumbles as he straps Jess into the highchair and places her by the breakfast bar in the kitchen so she can see what he is doing. “You wanna watch Daddy try and make a Birthday cake for Mummy? It’s not going that well so far but I think I’m gonna have a go at changing –”

Jess cuts him off, having gotten over her crying fit and squeaking in approval.

“Yeah?” Fitz grins over at her. “That sound like fun?”

She babbles excitedly again and Fitz smiles.

“Right,” he places his hands on his hips, deciding where to begin. “We still have some of this cake mix left but I’m not sure it’s any good.”

A low, grumbling bark sounds from behind him suddenly, making Fitz jump. It’s no wonder he never manages to get anything done when he is constantly being interrupted.

Turning around, Fitz sees it sitting there staring. The dog isn’t cute. Fitz never even wanted it. He still doesn’t.

“What?” he grumbles as the wide-eyed face looking up at him, tilted head and dangling tongue. The fluffy mutt, named Buster after Jemma’s childhood pet, is frustratingly difficult to hate. He does everything that he’s told. He’s gentle around the baby; he boops her with his soft little nose and waits at the door for Jemma to come home and sits staring up at Fitz waiting for instructions. Fitz frowns.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he gripes.

Buster barks once, quietly as to not scare the baby, but one single yap that makes Fitz wonder if this dog somehow has the ability to understand turn-taking in a conversation.

Crouching down to his level, Fitz makes eye contact with Buster for a few seconds before succumbing and scratching the dog’s head, just between his ears. Buster pants in appreciation and his tail flips from side to side enthusiastically. Fitz catches himself smirking.

“Hey,” Fitz harrumphs, forcing himself to scowl. “Stop trying to get me to like you.”

Buster barks again, his tail slapping against the kitchen tiles. He seems pleased with himself.

Fitz pets the dog one more time before getting to his feet and shaking his head. Stupid dog being all cute and obedient.

Okay, maybe having a dog isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He’s definitely not going to let Jemma know, though. Especially after the many arguments they had about the pet-buying process. Fitz had compiled a list of reasons why having a monkey – only a small one, a Capuchin or little Squirrel monkey – would easily be the best option for a pet but she had refused to listen, instead going on about how it _wouldn’t be safe_ and _think of the baby, it’s just impractical, Fitz_.

So they had got Buster instead. And Fitz is determined to complain about it every day until Jemma agrees with him that a dog is not as good as a monkey.

Jess giggles at Buster’s little tail wagging and Fitz’s heart softens. She seems to like having a dog around.

“Yeah well, you don’t have to clean up its poo,” Fitz grumbles to Jess as he turns back to his work surface.

“Anyway,” he nods, rubbing his hands together in determination. “Cake. We can do this.”

At least, he hopes he can.

* * *

 

It turns out Fitz is an even worse baker than anyone had predicted.

Jemma finds this out upon returning home, shoving her key into the fob and pushing the door open to an unexpected scene. The whole house seems darker than usual – the air is thicker and slightly hazy with smoke. It smells like… burning.

“Fitz…?” Jemma calls out tentatively, stepping over the threshold, dumping her bag on the floor and slamming the door shut to signal her arrival.

Buster runs to her feet as she enters the house and she crouches down to pet him.

“What has your Daddy been up to?” she questions the dog teasingly, but her heart is beating faster than usual in concern.

“Fitz, is something on fire?” Jemma calls hesitantly, getting to her feet and scanning her surroundings.

Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised. Fitz’s engineering background means that he has spent a lot of his life experimenting with technology in ways that don’t always end well. He had promised to keep the dangerous investigations out of the household, though, once Jessica was born.

Before the arrival of their daughter, Jemma would come home to all sorts – scorched ceiling, exploding microwave, smashed lightbulbs. Then there was the time Fitz flooded the basement –

“N-no!” Fitz shouts back a moment later, sounding breathless and stressed. Jemma’s train of thought is interrupted. “Everything’s fine! Just – don’t come in – the kitchen. You’re home early aren’t you?”

Jemma glances at her watch.

“No, I’m exactly on time actually. Where’s Jessica?”

A high pitched screech coming from the kitchen answers her question.

“With me!” Fitz clarifies shortly, his words being drowned out by Jessica’s screaming and the sudden clatter of metal against the tiled floor.

That can’t be good. Fitz would know better than to have Jessica close by during one of his ridiculous experimentation sessions… wouldn’t he? Jemma bites her lip.

“Fitz will you please explain what is going on?”

A beat of silence follows in which she removes her jacket and shoes and takes a few steps towards the commotion.

“Nothing!” Fitz assures her. “Why don’t you just put your feet up, I’ll stick the kettle on –”

“Oh this is ridiculous,” Jemma cuts him off, exasperated. “I’m coming in.”

Before Fitz can protest, she marches through the door of the kitchen looking stern. Her expression falters the second she enters and her hands drop to her sides as she assesses the situation.

There is mess everywhere, as predicted. But not the kind of mess she had been expecting.

Jemma blinks and scans the room a few times in search of a single space on the surface _not_ covered in food. Fitz comes into a view a moment later, turning to face her with a shamefully apologetic smile on his face.

“What are you - ?” Jemma chokes on her words upon seeing him.

His hair is a mess, there’s cake batter on his cheek and chin and some on the side of his nose, one of his fingers is wrapped up in a plaster and his jumper has a damp patch on it. Jemma has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. He looks so ridiculously messy, like a toddler who’s been left to play alone for a minute.

“I was making a cake –” Fitz tries to explain, gesturing vaguely around him.

“I can see that,” Jemma nods, taking a few steps forward until she’s close enough to him that she can wipe the cake mixture off of his cheek with her fingertip.

Taking the ruined batter, Jemma places her finger in her mouth and licks it off apprehensively.

“You’re not supposed to eat it uncooked,” Fitz protests, seeming to be at a slight loss for words. “It’s got raw egg in it.”

“A bit of egg is hardly going to kill me,” Jemma waves her hand in dismissal and licks her lips. “This is pretty good.”

“Hey, it’s not – wait. What, really?” he narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Yes!” she laughs. “No need to be so defensive.”

Fitz wipes some of the mixture off of his nose and tastes it himself, nodding once in agreement.

“It’s not too bad, is it?” he beams proudly.

Jemma laughs, reaching forward to kiss him on the lips lightly. He tastes like sugar and cake batter and is all warm and soft. It makes her smile.

“Well I think you make a very sweet chef,” she remarks.

“I’m not a chef, I’m a _baker_ ,” Fitz corrects, his cheeks tinging pink slightly at the compliment.

“Were you baking for me?” she asks him, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. Jemma steps over to where Jessica is sitting in her highchair and kisses her head. “Has Daddy been baking?” she coos.

“Daddy’s been trying,” Fitz responds grumpily. “Honestly, Jemma, when did cooking become so difficult?”

“Were you following a recipe?” Jemma inquires, arching an eyebrow.

“I – sort of. It confused me a bit so I decided to follow my instincts.”

She can’t help laughing at that.

“Oh, Fitz. What have you done?”

Shuffling aside and removing a tea towel from a baking tray, the result of Fitz’s baking adventure is revealed. Jemma’s mouth drops open; she gaps and then bursts into uncontainable laughter.

“Is that – is that meant to be –”

“It’s a cake,” Fitz protests, turning redder and redder.                 

The ‘cake’ has obviously been left in the oven for too long. And the mixture must have been very dry. All that Jemma can make out is a burnt, cracking blob on a tray. It’s so blackened it’s hard to decipher what colour it’s _meant_ to be. The smell of burning gets stronger as she inhales the overcooked scent.

“Stop laughing!” Fitz pouts.

“It’s black,” Jemma giggles, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I thought you were supposed to have the oven set to two hundred, at least that’s what I’ve seen you do –”

“I never cook on two hundred! One-eighty max, and our oven is fan assisted, remember?”

Fitz ignores her, continuing, “and I just put in for ten minutes or so but then Jess was crying –”

“Jessica,” Jemma corrects.

“ – and I had to see to her and I got distracted and the dog was there –”

“Oh, call him by his name, Fitz,” Jemma sighed, wondering when her husband will get over his aversion to Buster.

“I really tried!”

“I know you did,” Jemma says, taking a breath and collecting herself. “And I really appreciate the effort.”

She leans forward to kiss him again, for a little longer this time.

“It’s the thought that counts, right?” Fitz shrugs apologetically.

“Of course it is,” Jemma grins. She leans into him completely, wrapping her arms around his torso and snuggling into his chest. The cake mixture is probably getting on her clothes but she doesn’t really care. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Fitz snorts, rolling his eyes.

“A word of advice though,” she suggests, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Hmm?”

“Maybe just buy a cake next year,” she grins innocently.

Fitz laughs, reaching down to kiss her on the forehead and tightening his arms around her waist.

“That’s probably best.”

* * *

 

They end up ordering takeout because Jemma had insisted that ‘ _we do not need any more kitchen disasters’_ and Fitz doesn’t feel like arguing.

Fitz sits next to Jemma on the sofa, her head nuzzled into his shoulder and their empty Thai food boxes placed carefully on the coffee table in front of them. Jessica is back in the nursery, asleep in her cot, while Buster circles their ankles, sniffing around for unwanted food. The television flickers but Fitz isn’t paying it much attention.

“I’m sorry your Birthday hasn’t been as nice as you would have liked –” he begins, glancing down at his wife.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma cuts him off, glancing up from under her lashes, tucking a stray strand of rumpled hair behind her ear. “It’s been lovely.”

Fitz just scoffs.

“Right.”

“It has!” she insists, sitting up so she can look at him properly.

“Jemma, I completely butchered your cake and – I mean, what with Jess, I can’t even take you out for a nice dinner. Or, well, I could have but I didn’t think to book a babysitter –”

“ _Fitz_ ,” Jemma interrupts, emphasising his name. “Will you stop worrying? I’m happy, okay?”

Grumbling, Fitz gets to his feet.

“You don’t have to pretend, Jemma.”

“I’m not!” she cries in exasperation. “I get to spend my Birthday with you, my thoughtful and charming husband, and our baby girl. What more could I ask for?”

Fitz chuckles when she calls him charming, relaxing ever so slightly.

“I’m still annoyed about the cake, though. I don’t understand how it went so wrong. Maybe I should have practised beforehand,” he mutters to himself. Snapping his head up to smile at Jemma, Fitz shakes off his grumpiness and continues. “Well, I may have ruined that but hopefully your present will make up for it.”

With that, he dashes off into the hallway to dig around in his jacket pocket, dismissing Jemma’s disapproving remarks.

“I hope you haven’t spent a lot,” she warns, furrowing her brow in attempt to look angry. “Do you hear me, Fitz? I will be cross if you have.”

Waving a flippant hand at her, Fits re-enters the room and collapses down beside her, beaming.

“Happy Birthday, Jemma,” he says warmly, presenting her with a smallish box wrapped up in brown paper.

Shooting Fitz one final stern look, Jemma takes the box and carefully unfolds the paper. It looks surprisingly like a jewellery box which makes her nervous. Jewellery usually means expensive. And she’s not massively into diamonds and pearls anyway.

The paper reveals a small black box – proving Jemma correct. She glances up at Fitz’s excited expression and can’t help smiling back.

“Go on, open it,” Fitz encourages, practically bouncing up and down.

“Alright,” Jemma laughs, rolling her eyes at his enthusiasm.

Slowly and gingerly, Jemma pulls the lid of the box open to reveal its contents… her apprehensive expression quickly morphing into surprise, immediately followed by a touched smile.

She had been right about it being jewellery – but it was not the kind of fancy jewellery she had been expecting. In the centre of the box, atop the black velvet lining, sits a dainty silver necklace. The chain is fine and delicate and the charm is - well. It’s absolutely perfect.

Jemma runs her finger along the conjoined hexagonal and pentagonal shapes that the silver has been sculpted into, forming the shape of a molecule. A Serotonin Molecule.

“It’s –”

“The Happiness Molecule,” Fitz informs her excitedly. He checks himself and reddens a little. “Well, obviously you know what it is.

“The Happiness Molecule,” Jemma repeats in delighted disbelief.

“I thought so, you know, you can wear it and it will remind you to be happy. And it’s kind of an inside joke because only biochemists will really get it. Other chemists might actually, or just generally scientifically informed people but mostly biochemists, so you can take it to work and – oh and it’s good quality silver as well –”

“Fitz,” Jemma pauses his nervous rambling, smiling up at him, “I love it.”

“You… you do?” he blinks.

“Of course I do!” Jemma exclaims, throwing herself forward and wrapping her arms around Fitz’s neck. She hugs him tightly, squeezing closely and kissing him on the cheek before lowering her head to his ear. “And I love you,” she breathes, pulling back slightly to look at him.

Fitz breathes in her sweet fragrance and strokes his thumb gently across her jaw. She looks so beautiful; her face lit up by a radiant smile, the sliver of moonlight shining through the cracks in the curtains making her seem to glow. Jemma’s dark brown eyes sparkle and Fitz’s wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at her without his heart hammering erratically.

“Love you too.” He smiles adoringly tenderly and she mirrors it. “Oh, and Jemma?”

“Yes?” she responds, raising her eyebrows in curiosity.

Fitz grins, reaching up to kiss her forehead.

“I promise to never bake for you again.”                  

Jemma laughs and rolls her eyes, taking his hand in hers and holding onto him tightly.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the necklace!! - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/195548840/silver-serotonin-molecule-necklace?ref=market 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: http://everhtorne.tumblr.com
> 
> Isabelle: http://jeemmasimmons.tumblr.com


End file.
